


The Gift

by karmascars



Series: Bath Time [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Mojo, Bottom!Cas, Cock Cages, Cock Rings, Explosive Orgasm, Fluff, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, PWP, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Schmoop, Smut, Talking About Relationships, although I'm really more of the Bottom!Dean school of thought, anyway, but the Cas in this series just loves to be with Dean, but there's also, the plot of the series, top or bottom, top!dean, which is basically sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1268998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmascars/pseuds/karmascars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourth part of the Bath Time series. Castiel decides to give a little back. Dean's not really complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

"...Cas."

Dean's voice slaps flat and disbelieving through the bathroom's bleach-scented air. He'd driven around the entire town four times to find a place that doesn't charge by the hour -- not that he cares, but Sam's been pissy lately and Dean hopes a semi-nice room will cheer him at least a little bit -- and when he finally gets a room, there's somebody waiting for him.

The angel in the dry little motel bathtub doesn't acknowledge Dean at all. His eyes remain peacefully closed, dark lashes resting against pale cheeks. The force of Dean's engine-rumble voice doesn't startle him; he knew the instant Dean even chose this motel, let alone when he entered the room. There was ample time to place himself comfortably. All is going according to plan, and appearing unruffled before Dean's umbrage is but a nuance.

"Cas?"

Slight worry colors Dean's tone, because the angel isn't moving. Amusement that Castiel probably shouldn't feel at his hunter's concern leads to lightly chapped lips forming the barest of smiles. "Hello, Dean."

He feels relief flood the hunter's soul mere instants prior to frustration. "Damnit, Cas, you can't just post up in a random shitty room and hope --"

Castiel interrupts, eyes still closed. "I knew you would come here."

He hears Dean shift his weight from one foot to the other, the rustle of leather and denim. "What if Sam had --"

"Sam is at the local florist's, gathering intelligence." Castiel finally cracks open an eye, and fixes Dean with all the bald stare a mere crack of blue can afford. "I am well aware of your locations at most times."

Dean, now that Castiel can see him, is flushed slightly red from his hair to his collar, strong blunt-nailed fingers twitching and toying with hems. The angel shifts, cool plastic a smooth chill against his nude backside. It feels good, juxtaposed as it is against the increasing heat in Dean's stare. He spreads his legs a little wider within the confining space, barely restraining an indulgent sigh. Dean's eyes rove over him, his hands clearly desiring to do the same, and Castiel feels desirable beneath such scrutiny. He basks in it, as once he might have soaked in the warmth and glory of Heaven.

"Well, then," Dean says after too long a pause, voice cracking, clearing his throat like it had betrayed him. "You know he'll be back soon."

"Then we'll have to make the most of this time we have," Castiel replies solemnly. Raising an arm, he crooks a finger languidly. _Come to me_.

Dean staggers forward on the curl of the angel's request, falling to his knees beside the tub. "Cas..." he whispers brokenly, one hand reaching to gather a few trailing ribbons, a few velvet petals. "Why did you do this?"

Castiel rotates against the hard surface so he can look deeply, earnestly into those stricken green eyes. "You are a gift, Dean, and have always been. To this world, to those who love you, --" Dean flinches at this, and Castiel has to reach out a festooned arm, to grasp his chin lightly and tell him, "-- to me."

"But _why_ \--" It's barely a whisper.

The angel smiles. "I am my own gift to you, in return." And he lies back, so that Dean may more fully appreciate the sight of his pale borrowed skin wrapped in a tangle of thin, velour ribbon that's crimson as heart's blood, with rose petals cast atop and around him as sensuously as he was able to convince them to fall.

He licks his lips, and Dean unconsciously mimics, the hunter's stare caught somewhere on Castiel's chest. Castiel knows what he's thinking; not due to any so-called 'mojo' but rather the length of their association, and the strength of their bond. Dean's telling himself he doesn't deserve this, even if he does, one hundred percent and worlds over. Even if Castiel is already his.

Dean's eyes flick to Castiel's, then to his lips.

They surge to one another, the meeting of two poles, a magnetic attraction slamming their mouths together over two helpless sounds of want. Castiel fumbles with Dean's jacket; Dean's hands are crushing petals in Castiel's hair. One of them moans, the other answers. Hard breaths echo across the tile.

Kissing Dean is a privilege that Castiel would slay to keep. The rocketing heat up his spine, Dean's scent in his nostrils as they breathe sharply, quickly over their kiss; those are some of his most treasured possessions. He never considered that this could be a consequence of rebelling, of raising the Righteous Man, but now he wholeheartedly believes it the _best_ consequence. Castiel maps his hunter's mouth with an eager tongue, clutching Dean to him, breathless. He knows he's making noise, and doesn't care -- Dean is too, little broken starts of sounds that stem from the way he plunders Castiel's mouth in turn, tilting his head and slotting them together. It's wet, and messy, and Castiel thinks it's _perfect_.

Dean is the first to pull away, his plush lips kiss-bitten, his eyes blown wide and dark. Castiel follows his retreat with a whimper -- it has been mere weeks and yet millennia since he last tasted the man, and now that he's gotten another hint of that flavor, he has no desire to stop. Elbows splayed wide, practically crouching over the tubside, Castiel stares up at Dean and hopes he's communicating all of this effectively. Something about the hunter, this profound bond they share, makes it more difficult to remember how English is supposed to sound.

"Cas..." Dean sighs, and there's so much in that one syllable. A little of Castiel's abandon sloughs away.

"You know you don't have to do stuff like this, right?"

Castiel regards him steadily. His mastery of the language has returned, along with a kind of sobriety that comes with a lack of Dean. The hunter is mere feet away, but the unseen gulf between them just then could span entire worlds. "I do this for you, because I --"

"Yeah, I know," Dean interrupts. "But it's not necessary, man, come on." He looks at the angel a little pleadingly. "Don't you think it's kinda over-the-top?"

From the tub, Castiel glowers at him, at the part of Dean that always insists on running from emotional displays, or outbursts of affection. He doesn't adore the hunter any less for it, but it does make conversations like this difficult. "Because I love you," he continues patiently, ignoring Dean's little flinch, "and this is one of the myriad ways I choose to show it."

In a smooth, alien motion he's on his feet, trailing petals and ribbon in an aura of red as he steps from the tub. Dean's eyes have widened, but he doesn't step back -- his want is clearly legible all over his face, darkening further with heat when he scans Castiel's body and sees what an artfully placed pile of petals kept hidden. His sharp inhalation is a sweet note in Castiel's ears.

"Cas..." His name leaves Dean's lips in a breath, the hunter's eyes fixed hungrily between Castiel's legs. The attention is heady, and he feels it physically, a palpable force kneading his already turgid flesh and coaxing it to swell. When his cock tries to fill beyond what the confines of his accessory will allow, Castiel can't help his whimper. He aches for touch, more than he can verbalize, but he forces his hands to remain at his sides.

One clenches briefly into a fist.

Dean is before him quicker than angelic flight, strong yet tender hands caressing him through the leather thongs that hold the ensnaring rings in place. "Where did you get this?" the hunter asks wonderingly, his tone taking on that leading lilt, the low purr of not quite a question so much as praise. It goes straight to Castiel's groin and nests there, and he bucks into Dean's hand with a groan, arms draping themselves over the hunter's shoulders. Dean squeezes, kneading in fine waves. The angel had forgotten just how good this touch, Dean's touch, can feel.

Question, there was a question... Just being in Dean's presence makes him forget things -- with one hand on Castiel's cock and the other grasping his hip, Dean is destroying any chance he has of being understood when he speaks. If he can even manage to speak at all.

What does come out is a passable version of "Shop in San Francisco -- thought you'd --" and a desperate grunt when he gives in and shoves his mouth artlessly against Dean's. The hunter hums, wicked tongue caressing where Castiel's is blindly jabbing, hands pulling him in tighter until Castiel's cock in its steel-and-leather cage grinds into denim and an unforgiving thigh. There's a razor's edge duality he's riding: the pain of leather straps pulled too tightly, and the ecstasy of touch.

The angel might sob a little; he's too out of his mind to tell.

_"Be careful with this," the purple-haired shop boy warned. "It'll drive you pretty crazy."_

_"I am much more interested in the temporary insanity of my partner," Castiel replied absently, already picturing Dean's face when he saw him in it. "But thank you for your warning."_

_By the time he'd exited the stop and flown away, Castiel had forgotten the boy's words._

He should have listened more carefully.

The metal rings, which had been cool to the point of stinging when he slipped them on, burn snugly around the base of his cock and just beneath the head's bulbous ridge. Leather straps connect the two, cross around and confine his cock, all of it held firmly in place by the thin strips that run around his legs, his waist. Castiel is thoroughly confined, and now that he's hard and aching, it is a most exquisite torture. Dean's fingers tease him through the gaps in the leather, a child too close to a caged tiger.

Castiel growls, biting Dean's lip. He'd been so eager for the hunter to see him with the thing on, now all he wants is _device off_ and _Dean_ and _bed_. Maybe even just _wall_.

But Dean is distracted by the crimson ribbons still trailing enticingly from Castiel's limbs. The angel's torso is crossed with them, loose to dangling in places and in others, digging in. There's a loop around his neck, and Dean's breath hitches, speeds its pace as he slides the long end of that one through his fingers.

He tugs, just once, lightly. All of the blood in Castiel's body rushes below, and to his cheeks in a brilliant flush. His lips part, and tremble. What is this? Why does such a simple motion on Dean's part affect such a reaction within him? Castiel's nerves feel as though they are standing on end, anticipatory.

"C'mere," Dean says, still distracted, and tugs again. Castiel stumbles forward, the hunter leading him out into the room.

Dean hesitates when they pass Sam's bed; just a fraction, but Castiel knows. He's regained just enough of his mental faculties by this point to murmur, "He's still at the florist's, talking to the pretty woman there. He's considering taking her to a late lunch."

The hunter huffs in surprise. "Wouldn'tve figured he'd be up for it. Lately, he's..." Castiel regards him when he turns around, liquid heat between them, and Dean smirks. "Whaddayou care, anyhow. Let's see..."

He sits on the edge of the bed that's his, nearest the door, and pulls Castiel into the vee of his legs. The angel feels strangely coltish, unbalanced and wild, his trapped cock bobbing fitfully toward Dean's chest.

"What were you hoping would happen, Cas?" Dean teases, darkened eyes sparkling. He runs his knuckles gently over leather straps, from ring to ring. _Bump - bump - bump - bump._ He does it again back the other way, and Castiel is losing his mind. _Bump - bump - bump - bump._ "Did you think I'd just say 'ooh, pretty' and take it off?"

Castiel nods, a brief bob of his head. His whole body thrums with the little vibrations of Dean's stroking, and he can't even think cohesively enough to figure out where he should put his hands. Some distant part of him acknowledges the inherent threat in that, a warning that Dean's ability to render him useless may well be his undoing. He ignores it in favor of trying to speak the right language to those laughing eyes. "I -- I thought --"

"You thought I wouldn't tease, huh?" Dean asks lightly.

Castiel nods again, miserably, because he sees the smirk within Dean before it surfaces on his face.

The hunter's voice is pure lust, so quiet and yet the only thing he can hear. "Well, Cas -- you were wrong."

Shivers wrack him at those words, and Castiel feels as well as sees the zings of fear and curiosity and arousal that spike through Dean. This is new, and both of them like it. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

"What are you going to do to me, Dean?" he asks honestly, low voice raw and open. _Do it all_ , his body screams, trapped against touching. Dean's lips part; he licks them, reflexively, predatory.

His eyes say _So many things, angel_. Castiel shivers again.

He knows he's well and truly lost when Dean is able to sling him sideways, on to the bed. He's an angel of the Lord, and Dean just hauled him like a sack. Sprawled out, Castiel stares up at him. The hunter is grinning, exultant, and doesn't know how beautiful he is.

Dean slides lower, lower, until he's kneeling on the floor. Castiel begins to rise up on his elbows, to see what he's planning to do, but all he feels is excitement from Dean before a puff of warm air on his ballsac knocks him flat on his back again.

Pale fingers clench the coverlet. "Dean," he gasps, but the hunter just chuckles, and sucks Castiel's balls into his mouth.

Every muscle locks up, the angel's mouth opening in a silent scream. His cock strains against the device he's now cursing, ardently, as his mind spirals out of control. Dean hums around tissue paper flesh and tender pearls, and the _wetness_ \-- Castiel becomes aware that he's whimpering, barely daring to twitch because of the proximity to teeth, but it's a near thing. His body wants to seize, shake, a rictus dance of pleasure. All the rest of his skin is aflame.

Dean somehow manages to roll them in his mouth without scraping, applying gentle but consistent suction, and teasing with that tongue that Castiel both curses and praises in turn. Words are falling from Castiel's lips that mean nothing to Dean, oaths in dead languages. He's not even sure which he's speaking, most of the time, especially not when Dean slurps his balls back out and works lower.

He hikes up Castiel's legs, folding them up and holding his ankles flush against his thighs. Dean's still fully dressed, and that hasn't bothered Castiel until now -- he's usually looking more at the soul than the shell; even if it is a very pretty shell, Dean's soul is pure magnificence. He flutters a hand at Dean's sleeve, plucking at it. _"Off_ ," he says petulantly. Dean blinks (That was French, Castiel realizes) but then he grins. "Feeling like I'm overdressed, huh?"

Castiel eyes him archly at that tone, and Dean sniggers. "Okay, don't get your ribbons in a wad." He stands up, fluidly shedding leather and plaid, arms flexing in their short black sleeves. He toes his boots off, kicks them away. Then he's back, pinning Castiel's legs and leaning in.

The tip of his tongue trails lazily down the tender inside of Castiel's thigh, painting a trail that chills. He swirls around the tightening ballsac, down over the perineum. Dean reaches the angel's rim and laves his tongue right over it, and Castiel cries out. "Oh, Dean!"

Dean hums his assent into the nerve endings there, and Castiel sobs. "Dean, _Dean, please_ \--" But the hunter seems determined to tease until he's broken, skirting Castiel's actual entrance with every pass, doggedly coy. When he does finally dip the very tip past Castiel's wrinkled rim, heat sears up Castiel's spine and leaves him breathless, clawing at the sheets, grasping through the short hairs on Dean's head.

 _Where did he learn to do this?_ Castiel wonders blearily. Last he knew, Dean hadn't been with many men at all, if any -- yet here he is with his face buried between the angel's thighs, eating him out with an enthusiasm usually reserved for sandwiches, or pie. He supposes it could be borrowed skill from the hunter's many female conquests. Castiel tries to extend his awareness, see Dean's inspiration, but there's no possibility of concentration when Dean is penetrating him so fully with the slick soft-hardness of his tongue. Oh, his _tongue_...

Castiel feels his cock swelling impossibly within the confines of his purchase and wonders wildly if he has the strength enough to burst free from it.

Then Dean's tongue shoves inside of him and pulses, twisting, seeking. All Castiel can do is scream in relief, and let go.

His cock pulses within the cage, the ring at its base firmly stopping his orgasm -- for all of an instant. The room's one sad little window shatters, as do all the lightbulbs, picture frames, the TV and even the clock. Sparks rain down from sockets. Dean flinches but doesn't stop fucking the angel with his tongue, even when the cock cage inches from his face explodes. He just closes his eyes.

Even when Castiel is losing control, Dean trusts him.

The first ropy stream of come strikes up toward Castiel's pale chest as pieces of leather and steel embed themselves in the wall, the bed, go flying out the hole where a window should be -- none of it striking Dean. Castiel shakes, keeps coming, focusing so hard his upper lip shines with sweat. Pleasure wracks him, but he makes sure Dean is unscathed before he succumbs to aftershocks. He drifts away for a moment, coming back to the present when Dean eases his legs down.

The hunter slots up next to him as sirens begin to rage somewhere close by. "That was pretty angelic, there," he snarks, nipping a pale earlobe.

Castiel frowns. "I did not expect -- give me a moment."

He blinks out with the rushing sound of many wingbeats, several times in the space of Dean's startled breath. When he's finished, he stands divested of ribbon in a new room, on the other side of town, Dean looking up at him in wonder from a different bed. Castiel gives him a small smile, and goes to get the car.

When he returns, Dean is on the phone. "Yeah, well, change of plans."

Whatever the person on the other end -- presumably, Sam -- says, Dean's face clouds over to hear it. "What do you care?" he says icily. "Enjoy your rabbit brunch, boy wonder." He shuts the phone decisively, and slips it into his pocket.

Castiel lets him fume, waiting patiently for the radiant smile that Dean finally does turn to him. "The room exploded," he says, eyes shining. Castiel chuckles; sometimes, Dean becomes the child that his father never allowed him to be.

Dean's lips form a moue of self-satisfaction. _I did that_ , the expression says. Castiel rolls his eyes, a very human reaction he learned entirely from the Winchesters. "You have an explosive presence, Dean."

His hunter snorts. "Yeah, well. Wouldn't be the first wrecked room we've left behind." His eyes narrow slightly. "Or did you fix that, too?"

Castiel sighs. He wishes that were possible, but between his preparations for Dean and then moving them so rapidly, the Impala included, his grace is exhausted. "I am sorry, I --"

"Hey, don't worry about it," Dean soothes, sidling closer. "But," he adds, "aren't they gonna remember I was there?" His eyes flick to where Castiel has placed his coat and boots, and grow warmer.

The angel grows warm with them, reaching for Dean's hand when he's close enough. "I altered their memories," Castiel says, entwining their fingers. "That room was empty, and suffered an electrical short that started a fire. The report will state that it was lucky no one was there."

Something funny enters Dean's expression during the explanation, but it's gone by the time Castiel has finished speaking. He smiles at Dean, happy that it has become so easy to do. Looking at Dean, being with Dean, it makes him want to smile.

Their kiss is an inevitable extension of that smile.

Castiel is still nude, and his bare skin is being worshiped by Dean's warm hands. His cock gains fitfully against a denim-clad thigh, hips pumping eagerly. He's practically riding Dean by the time they separate, thin line of saliva connecting their lips for an instant. Castiel wants to follow the line, demand another kiss, but there is so much more to be experienced in its stead. He pants up at the hunter, hard as nails and so very ready to actually get his hands on Dean.

Who chuckles at him. Infuriating, as always. "Damn," he says, "you're a smokin' little -- _mmph!"_ Castiel puts an end to that with two fingers popped in Dean's mouth. Dean's wide green eyes reveal exactly how that makes him feel, black slowly swallowing verdant color.

"Suck," the angel commands, and Dean obeys.

The fingers are sopping when he pulls them out, and Dean's eyes follow them, follow Castiel over to a bed. When the angel clambers up on his hands and knees, Dean gasps, but when Castiel slides one slender digit right into his hole, Dean chokes out a low groan to see it. "Fuck, Cas," he says helplessly. "Where'd you learn that?" Castiel looks over at him, and grins wickedly to see the bulge in his hunter's jeans.

"Remove your clothes," he says imperiously, adding another finger with a soft mewl. Dean complies, shedding his remaining layers perfunctorily until his lithely compact frame is on display. His cock bobs red and dripping, one hand reflexively catching hold of it, tugging a little, teeth worrying his bottom lip. He looks stricken the longer he stares at Castiel prepping himself, but manages to tear his gaze away long enough to run for his duffle (which Castiel had remembered) for lube.

Castiel must lose track of time, because next he knows there's solid heat draped over his back and a slick finger entering his body alongside his own. He withdraws his hand with a sigh that becomes a keening moan when Dean adds two more fingers, stroking his prostate roughly.

"Fuckin' hell, Cas, you're beautiful," Dean mumbles, kissing the words into the knobs of his spine.

He could argue, wax eloquent about the heat and pure light of the soul at his back, but he knows that's not what Dean wants to hear. "Need you," he moans, the sounds tasting faintly Sumerian. He bucks back into Dean, the hard line of heat riding up the cleft of his ass, just in case that (once again) wasn't English.

Dean hums at the nape of his neck. "Yeah, Cas... yeah." He's twisting his fingers, delving deeper, stroking over the spot that makes Castiel writhe against him. "You want my cock?" he growls breathlessly. Castiel's little cry and the blurt of precome from his own erection would have to serve as a response, since he's too overwhelmed by everything _Dean_ to speak.

The dull prod of Dean's cock at his entrance, held wide by his fingers, has Castiel nodding frantically, "Yes, yes, _yes_ ," panting from him with every breath. The hunter sheathes himself to the hilt with a ragged moan, one smooth thrust into Castiel's well-prepared heat that leaves them both reeling. For two or three heartbeats, they simply breathe.

"I, uh --" Dean's voice hitches and when he clears his throat, his cock swells within Castiel, who shivers. The reciprocity stirs Dean's hips to twitch, and Castiel bites back a whimper as Dean says, "I've never --"

"I know," Castiel interrupts, his voice completely wrecked. "Dean, please. _Move_."

The first few thrusts are tentative, as though the hunter is afraid to break him. As though he could ruin an angel with sex.

 _He might_ , Castiel considers. _Though not in the way he assumes._

Then Castiel flexes, clenches down hard around that filling flesh, and with a startled grunt Dean lunges back, fucks forward hard. Hard enough to jolt an angel into laughing, clarion peals that ring with arousal and sheer joy. His hunter is making love to him. When Castiel turns, strains to see him over his shoulder, Dean has a look on him like he's seen the face of Heaven itself -- and he's thinking that he truly has. Castiel can't stop smiling, rocking his hips to meet Dean's thrusts, falling in to the rhythm and marveling in just how full, how _good_ he feels.

The bed beneath them groans as they do, an unwitting third party. Springs creak raucously over the slams of their headboard against the drywall, each rock forward of Dean's hips the catalyst for a symphony of cacophonous noise. Castiel feels his very grace join in with the rest of the room, wailing an ode to Dean Winchester's cock and everything else about the man, all of him so exquisite. His hands, his eyes, his beautiful soul... Dean rams his angel up the bed and Castiel loses himself in the rhythm, the thrusts he meets with short rocking slaps to shove Dean just that little bit further.

On one particularly deep thrust, Dean falls forward on to his hands, his lips inches from Castiel's ear. "I'm fucking you," he says, wonder and disbelief. He leans lower, nips at the lobe, hips working deep in a dirty grind. His hot breath gives Castiel chills. "I'm _fucking you_."

"Yes," Castiel says, the smile that Dean can't see quirking, becoming fond. "Don't stop --"

Dean rears back, hands planted on Castiel's lower back, spanning the crest of his hips. "I won't," he says, like he doesn't even know he's speaking. He repeats the words in a grunt as he renews his thrusting, shifting Castiel around until he's plowing into that spot of bright pleasure. "I -- won't -- _god_ , Cas --"

"Don't blaspheme," Castiel whispers in Enochian as his head falls between his hunched shoulders.

The _sensation_. It's overwhelming Castiel to be fucked, to feel Dean's cock filling him so completely, hardness scraping over every little spot that makes him tense and breathe out all at once, every time. All he can do is hold on, _feel_ Dean work him over, smell the fresh sweat standing out on the hunter's skin. To make love with one such as this... it is perfection, as it can only be found on Earth.

Dean pulls out, slowly but firmly, ignoring Castiel's whine at the emptiness. The angel allows himself to be manhandled, turned and folded, and when Dean slides back in they are face to face. Castiel can see the way Dean reacts, viscerally, to his bone-rattling moan at being filled once more. "You..." the hunter breathes, shaking his head. His hips pick up a rhythm, seek out a new spot within. Castiel can't help his appreciative noises. He catches Dean's gaze as they pour from his throat, holding his hunter captive.

His hands find Dean's arms, corded with effort, and stroke up to his head, cradling his face, fingertips dragging through short hairs. Hip like pistons, Dean fucks him up the bed until Castiel has to grab for the headboard and shove himself back down, their grunts and his high little keens running counter time to slaps of skin on skin.

Somewhere along in there Dean starts talking, low mutters of words, disjointed and filthy praise. His eyes dart everywhere, taking in the sight spread out below him, what Castiel feels is his flushed cheeks, disheveled hair, snapping bright eyes. He feels like a live wire, strung out beneath his hunter and shining with each dirty thing murmured in to his ear.

"So fucking pretty on my cock, angel, best goddamn thing... look at you, taking it so good," Dean's growling the words, his thrusts have sharpened. Castiel tightens his muscles and torques down hard to meet him, anticipating, wanting more of those words and as much of Dean as the hunter will give him. "So fucking good," Dean moans. "Cas... _fuck_ , I'm gonna -- gonna --"

"Fill me up, Dean," Castiel commands on a whim, and with a gasp Dean throws his head back and comes, screwing hard into the angel til his hipbones dig into Castiel's thighs. Tiny thrusts, a grunt for each, pleasure cascading --

Dean looks down at him, flushed and alight, his gaze inscrutable. Before Castiel can ask, Dean is slipping free of his body and moving back, down. His lips caress the swollen head of Castiel's cock, sucking forth a throaty gasp from his angel before he swallows the whole shaft down.

He manages to hold that for only a moment before he chokes, throat convulsing, and that's all Castiel needs to shriek, and come even harder than the first time -- without, of course, the fireworks display of sparks and shattered glass. Except for a slight rattle around the casements, it's just convulsive shaking, pulses of white heat, and a languid rush of prickling warmth that wraps his body up tight.

Coming down from a blinding haze, Castiel heals Dean's throat and stops his coughing with a touch.

When Dean kisses him Castiel can taste himself, and he surges up from the bed, lapping eagerly at the hunter's tongue. Dean chuckles into his mouth, smoothing his hands down Castiel's arms. He's sweating, dripping on Castiel's skin and the sheets, and there's come everywhere, but that doesn't stop them from turning in to one another and lying close, just staring and smiling.

Not surprisingly, Dean is the first to break their gaze, smile softening to a small secret on his lips. He teases a fingertip along Castiel's eyebrow, the ridge of his skull around one curious eye. The angel wants to ask him what he's thinking, specific thoughts rather than the idea of them, but decides instead to simply grasp that hand in his own and kiss each of those fingertips.

That seems to make Dean uncomfortable. "Cas..." he says, low, into the space between them. "What is this?"

It's an odd feeling to tilt his head sideways while lying down. "What do you mean?"

"What are we doing, here? This --" He licks his lips. "This thing we have, what is this?"

"Must we define it?" Castiel asks, genuinely confused. "I believe most humans call this --" he bobs a finger between their chests -- "a relationship. However, you are not most humans, and I am not human at all." He smiles softly when Dean wryly acknowledges that. "What I do know is that I love you, Dean, and even if you will not say it, I know that in your soul you love me back." Dean's not meeting his eyes. Castiel chases his. "Dean, we are together, what does any label matter?"

Air leaves the hunter's lungs in a troubled rush, and then in a flurry of thought processes, his face relaxes. Worry lines smooth away, and he looks younger. "It doesn't -- they don't," he says, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He traces the line of Castiel's side, not breaking their gaze, all the way up to cup the angel's jaw. "We just _are_."

Castiel opens his mouth to agree, but just then Dean's phone rings, and he has to smile as his hunter growls and rolls off the bed. Watching a naked Dean stalk over to where he left his jeans has Castiel's body interested all over again -- and Dean turns around just in time to see him bite his lip.

Heat flies across the room between them as Dean answers the call. "Yeah, Sammy?"

Castiel takes that and Sam's muffled crackling _"So where is this new motel, then?"_ as incentive to clean them up, ready when Dean looks around, annoyed, to tell him where they are.

He wonders, just briefly, when something like this might happen again -- because there's no doubt whatsoever that it _will_.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos if you liked it, and subscribe for the next installment!


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